


The Sound of Us

by Serafaerosa



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:50:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serafaerosa/pseuds/Serafaerosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally submitted for a one-shot contest involving Bo, Lauren and a massage. Picks up immediately after the season 4 finale: Bo is devastated over Kenzi's death, and Lauren is a splash of color to Bo's otherwise grey existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Us

The Sound of ‘Us’

Early afternoon sunlight filtered down. Worlds blinked in and out of existence in the dust motes that hung in it, disappearing into the darkness just beyond the threshold of the clubhouse’ front door. Gingerly, Lauren stepped up to the door, as if afraid her quiet footsteps might shatter the tenuous quiet that hung over the derelict building and break the woman grieving inside it. The door was unlocked, she tested the doorknob with a gentle grip and carefully pushed it aside.

As bright as the day was outside, the night inside was darker still. Through that darkness, Lauren could see empty bottles and half-eaten meals forgotten on floors, tables, chairs. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply – she knew this scene. Knew it intimately. She’d lived it.

Despite her care, her heels still tapped loudly against the rough wood flooring as she stepped inside. Bo must be here, somewhere, she hadn’t left the clubhouse since Kenzi’s funeral, not even to feed. Tamsin hadn’t been home either, had stayed instead with Dyson, afraid to come home to a house void of the mother, sister, friend, she’d never known before Kenzi. Lauren crept through the living room, up the stairs, her heart pulling her to the place she knew Bo would be, to the attic. Kenzi’s room.

She found her curled up in Kenzi’s bed, hugging one of Kenzi’s pillows against her chest and skimming through a book yellowed and cracked with age. She hadn’t changed since the funeral either, her clothes were wrinkled and her hair disheveled. Mascara smeared her pallid cheeks, and in the half-light of the lit candles ranged around Kenzi’s room, Lauren could see that Bo’s hands were shaking.

“I brought Chinese food,” Lauren offered timidly in way of greeting and pushed herself into the guttering yellow light of the bedroom. Bo looked up at her briefly before turning wordlessly back to her book. Lauren saw the hollowness in her eyes, puffed and sore and red from crying. It broke her heart to see Bo this way. Almost as much as it had to hear that Kenzi… Lauren pushed her own grief out of the way, knowing that it could not compare with the utter desolation she knew Bo felt. And Bo needed her right now, more than Lauren had expected.

Slowly, quietly, Lauren crept to Bo’s side and lowered herself onto the bed beside her. She dropped the bag she carried to her feet and leaned in close to the woman she loved, wishing desperately that she could lend some semblance of strength and serenity to her, wishing she could take away her immeasurable pain and carry it for her. She rested her chin lightly on Bo’s shoulder and drew in a deep breath. She smelled of too much wine, of stale air and salty tears, of sleep refused and pushed away into the hard lines around Bo’s eyes and mouth and forehead.

“I can’t find anything,” Bo whispered, her voice cracked with exhaustion and disuse, “I don’t know how to get to her, I don’t know how to bring her home.”

“That’s because you’re tired,” Lauren answered in a whisper. She reached around and closed her fingers around the book Bo clutched in her trembling hands. The parchment was dry and rough under her skin, and cracked when Lauren pulled it gently out of Bo’s grasp. She closed it and set it aside, ignoring the quiet sounds of distress Bo managed to growl at her. “You need to eat. You need to shower. And you need to sleep,” Lauren continued and gently pulled Bo around to face her, “you can’t help Kenzi like this. You’re too worn out.” Lauren’s words were gentle, she cupped Bo’s face in her hands and looked at her, trying desperately to hide her grimace at seeing Bo this way.

Bo choked back a sob. She couldn’t breathe. There was a black hole in her chest, sucking the air out with every breath she tried to take. Her heart wasn’t broken, it was gone. Lost with Kenzi at the door of the Cinvat. She stared into Lauren’s eyes, trying to take strength from the quiet, patient love that waited for her on the other side. But all she could do was nod and lean in, rest her throbbing head on Lauren’s shoulder and cry in her arms. Lauren kissed her hair, wrapped her arms around her and held her tightly, and didn’t say anything. She knew that mere words would not be enough.

“Okay,” Bo whispered softly after a while, “okay.”

Lauren was tender with her, she wrapped an arm around her waist, helped her to stand. It terrified her to see Bo like this, so broken, so weak. With their arms around each other, they shuffled down the stairs, down to Bo’s bathroom, and while Bo undressed, Lauren filled the tub with warm water and soap.

It wasn’t sexy, helping Bo wash herself. But it was intimate, and warm, and comforting. Bo sighed into the strong hand that scrubbed her back and shoulders, poured warm water over her knees and let the greying water soak deep into her skin. She watched the ripples move while she bathed, her head full of moments of Kenzi, of her head held high, her strong, sweet smile, the knowing in her eyes that she was powerful too, that she belonged, that she meant something, finally. And then the shock of her body as the Cinvat’s power threw itself into her. The blinding light. The unspoken prayer that by some miracle, Kenzi would make it out alive. Her body, broken and lifeless, stretched across the rubble of the battlefield.

Bo sank backwards into the bath, her hair spread in a dark halo around her shoulders, and closed her eyes. Lauren’s hands worked over her arms, her chest, her stomach, firm but gentle. It felt good to let someone else take care of her for a change. And she trusted Lauren, knew that Lauren was in her corner, on her side, always. Even if she didn’t always understand how or why. Dripping fingers hovered over Bo’s chest and her eyes opened to slits. Lauren was staring down at the necklace, and Bo could see the small, delicious smile that peeked through the corners of her mouth. Bo closed her eyes again, held that image close, allowed it to soothe her, to spread comfort through the dark parts of her that felt cold without her best friend close by.

“The Hel Shoes,” Bo mumbled, and Lauren froze.

“What?” Lauren whispered back, her voice worried and tense.

Bo opened her eyes and looked up at Lauren, “I have to find the other Hel Shoe,” Bo said again, her voice a little stronger and more steady now than it had been since Lauren found her. Lauren’s knuckles turned white with the strength of her grip on the side of the bathtub, and for a moment, Bo was afraid she would argue, that she would try to stop Bo from finding a way to get Kenzi back. But then Lauren seemed to relax, and ran her fingers through Bo’s hair instead to clean it.

“Okay,” Lauren said after a moment’s pause, her voice still worried, but not disagreeing, “how do we do that?”

It took her by surprise, though she knew it shouldn’t have, that immense feeling of gratitude and love. It hit her sideways, took the breath from her lungs, saved what would have been devoured by the black pit of grief that had been swallowing her whole until now. Such a small gesture of unity, of devotion in the word ‘we’ that Lauren had spoken so softly warmed the tips of her toes and fingers. Bo just let it sit there for a little while, afraid to disturb the sudden feeling of not alone lest it fly away like a frightened bird, and closed her eyes again.

“We talk to Dyson,” Bo murmured after a quiet moment, “we talk to Trick.” She tasted the word ‘we’ in her mouth, knowing it should feel the same, sound the same, coming from her lips and marveling that it didn’t. Not quite.

Lauren dipped her arms deep into the water, and Bo felt the gentle pressure of her hands on the small of her back, supporting her to sit up. “Let’s eat, first. I’ll call them after you’ve slept.”

Bo wanted to hear her say ‘we’ again, the warmth had left her fingers and toes and she ached for the small comfort it had brought her before. Still, she sat up and watched through heavy-lidded eyes while Lauren reached for a towel and settled it around her shoulders slowly as Bo rose to her feet.

She didn’t help Bo dress. She went upstairs, to the attic, to grab the bag of take-out and stare at the loneliness of Kenzi’s room with a heavy heart before plodding back downstairs to the kitchen to set out plates and forks and serving spoons. Bo listened to her footsteps thudding a familiar, comforting beat on the creaky wooden flooring, then dried off.

Everything she owned was black. It wasn’t hard to find something to wear – in mourning for Kenzi’s death, Bo could only wear black – but now it felt too every-day, too normal, to be mourning clothes. She didn’t want to wander upstairs again, to get lost in Kenzi’s room alone again, looking for Tamsin’s clothes. It was too hard to get dressed anyway. And Tamsin’s absence was just another reminder that Kenzi was gone – medicine that was too big to swallow and just wound up jammed in her throat with the tears she no longer had the energy to shed.

But Lauren was waiting downstairs for her, a splash of color to Bo’s grey existence, and the comfort of ‘we’ and ‘we’ll bring Kenzi home’ was enough to bring her to drag on a clean pair of black leather pants and a black tank top, and stumble down the stairs.

The warm smell of hot steamed rice and dumplings, of General Tso’s and pork and mixed vegetables hit her in the face and made her stomach growl and whine with hunger. She’d been so busy drowning in grief and guilt she’d forgotten how hungry she was. And the fact that she was hungry took her by surprise – she shouldn’t have an appetite, but she was sitting at the island, dumping some of everything into her plate and stuffing her mouth with so much of everything she could hardly taste it. Lauren didn’t say anything, just looked on with a relieved expression painted across her face, and sat down in front of her. She ate slowly, and though Bo never looked back, she only watched while the woman she loved remembered suddenly how to survive.

“Why do you think Dyson or Trick will know how to find the other Hel Shoe?” Lauren asked once Bo had wiped her first plate clean, her voice hushed in the steady orange glow of the kitchen. Bo looked up at her then, a deer in the headlights, suddenly aware that the whirling dervish of her thoughts weren’t said aloud, and started piling her plate again with more dumplings, more pork, more vegetables.

“Dyson was the last person to have both of them,” Bo said then, her words slow and a little slurred with exhaustion, “he hid one. The other one he gave to Angel.”

Lauren nodded. She remembered that conversation, remembered with painful clarity the mixed emotions she’d felt so vividly that day, the jealousy of Bo’s deep friendship and love for Dyson, the elation of hearing Bo whisper her name in her sleep, the fear, the anger, and finally, the companionship of sharing a hot-dog with her family. Of talking over the day’s events, of mulling over its importance with the people she loved most in the world.

“You think Dyson and Trick can help us find her,” Lauren continued for Bo, and Bo felt warmth creep up her spine with the sound of the word ‘us’, again, familiar and not alone. “But how will the Hel Shoes help us find Kenzi?”

Bo closed her eyes and stopped for a moment, mid-chew. To Lauren, it seemed as though Bo was simply drained, gathering her energy to conjure words of explanation. But Bo was only gathering the sound of ‘us’ close around her, drawing it in to warm her skin and fill in the craters of her scarred and pock-marked soul.

“That book that I was reading,” Bo murmured finally, her voice lost in a haze of tired tranquility, “it said that the Helskor could lead the wearer to Valhalla.”

Silence settled over them for a moment, and Bo started eating again, more slowly and calmly now than she had done before, while Lauren chewed over the rough edges of Bo’s idea. This was something Bo had been thinking about for a long while, since Kenzi’s funeral at least, but the fugue of grief and exhaustion had muddled it away from her. She felt a small sense of pride, that she had been the one to bring Bo back to life enough to put it all together – something she’d not felt without the tinge of self-disgust for what she’d had to do until now to survive, to protect Bo. But she also felt a little fear, a little hesitation. Finding the shoes wouldn’t be easy, but Lauren felt her gut roil at how much harder and more dangerous putting those shoes on would be. And if Bo wasn’t the right person for the shoes…

“You’ll be there, right?” Bo’s voice shook Lauren from her thoughts as surely as a gentle breeze shook the dry autumn leaves from a tree, and Lauren looked up at her to see insecurity and fear crease Bo’s face in the dim light.

“I thought about that too. I saw what the shoes do, if the wrong person wears them,” Bo went on, her voice soft and hushed, but steady, “if I’m not the right person for the shoes,” her words echoed Lauren’s thoughts, “I’ll need you to be there. I’ll need you to make sure I don’t hurt anyone.” Bo’s dark brown eyes were begging, big and bright in the kitchen’s warm glow.

Lauren nodded silently, her own brow creased now with the weight of what Bo needed her to do. But she’d promised to help, and she missed Kenzi too, and Bo needed her. Lauren would always be there when Bo needed her.

Together, they cleaned the kitchen, packed the leftovers into the fridge and washed the dishes in warm, soapy water, their hands mingling under the running tap, then in the dishtowel while they dried. Working together, parallel to each other, in tandem, and close, so close, but rarely touching. Their thoughts were consumed – Bo’s with Kenzi, arguing about not wanting to do the dishes, but eventually doing them anyway, and Lauren’s with Bo, brown eyes freezing into blue and that hard, angry snarl twisting her soft, gentle mouth into something else, something not Bo. And when the dishes were cleared and dinner packed away, Lauren herded Bo upstairs to her room. Both their movements had disintegrated into slow, sluggish expressions of exhaustion, of a weariness that sank past flesh and muscle into bone.

“You’ll call them?” Bo asked tiredly at the foot of her bed, even as she struggled to tear her top off. Lauren nodded at her from the stairwell, her eyes, and the worry behind them, shadowed in the flickering light.

“I will. Get some sleep, I’ll tell them to come by in a few hours, after you’ve rested.”

And while Bo continued to clumsily undress for bed, Lauren turned away and stumbled down the stairs to call Dyson and Trick as promised.

 

She heard Bo collapse into her mattress upstairs over an hour ago, and the minutes ticked by slowly, loudly, while she dozed on the couch. She ran through contingency plans, through medical procedures that would only sedate Bo rather than kill her, if worse came to worst, through all her knowledge and understanding of Fae lore and physiology before all the ‘what if’s and worst case scenarios overwhelmed her and she decided to go back upstairs and check on Bo. She slipped her boots off before she even left the couch, afraid that the clack of her heels on the creaky wooden flooring would wake Bo from her precious slumber.

She knew she should have gone home – she’d done all she could for Bo at this moment – but she wanted to be here when Dyson and Trick came, wanted to show Bo that the words of ‘us’ and ‘we’ she’d been using tonight had substance, meaning and fidelity. And now, leaning against the winding, towering post of Bo’s bed and staring down into the sleeping face of the woman she loved, she wanted to be here just to watch her while she slept. To see the slow, measured rise and fall of Bo’s chest and the soft part in her mouth. Her brows were knit together, and Lauren wondered if she was dreaming about Kenzi, taking her final steps into the Cinvat, into the ultimate sacrifice, or if she was dreaming about something else.

Simply watching her sleep was too tempting. Lauren slipped closer, her bare feet barely a whisper on the warm floorboards of Bo’s bedroom, and leaned down to brush away the hair from Bo’s face and press a reassuring hand to the small of Bo’s back, where the muscles were bunched and tense and jumped at the barest rumor of Lauren’s skin brushing against her. Bo murmured something in her sleep and stirred, then flopped more squarely onto her stomach with her arms framing her head beneath the pillow. Without thinking, Lauren pooled herself onto the bed beside Bo and started to massage her fingers gently into the knotted muscles along Bo’s back. Bo didn’t wake, didn’t stir, only hummed softly in her sleep and sighed into the hands that worked gently, firmly, up and down her spine.

Lauren barely dared to breathe while she kneaded her knuckles along Bo’s spine, irrationally afraid that Bo would wake if she breathed too loudly, though she slept on while Lauren massaged her. She worked her way up from Bo’s lower back, around her waist and up, up to Bo’s smooth, strong shoulders. The hard, tight muscle under her fingers slowly warmed and softened, and while Lauren worked to relax Bo, she felt it work to relax her a little too. Bo shifted and groaned quietly in her sleep, somewhere between sleep and relaxed, content consciousness, lost in a haze of warm breath where Lauren’s knuckles met muscle.

When Bo’s shoulders had softened into smooth, flat planes, Lauren stopped for a moment. Her hands had cramped as her short, smooth strokes firmed, and she needed to move Bo’s hair away if she wanted to work over the curve where Bo’s shoulders met her neck. Bo shifted then, and Lauren froze, afraid she’d finally woken her, afraid that what she’d done had disturbed her.

“Keep going,” Bo mumbled into her pillow, words slurred with groggy calm, “feels good.”

Lauren felt a smile crack her mouth, a sensation that had begun to feel unfamiliar and foreign over the past few days since Kenzi’s death, and brushed away the long, gleaming locks of Bo’s hair from her neck. She leaned down over her, intending to just brush her lips to Bo’s cheek.

She pressed a gentle kiss to the smooth skin behind Bo’s ear, her fingers already working to relieve the tension in Bo’s shoulders. But she didn’t move away, she couldn’t. Bo’s sweet, intoxicating smell enveloped her, and instead of rising to gain the leverage she needed to properly massage Bo’s neck, she rubbed her hands down Bo’s arms and pressed another gentle kiss to the jumping pulse point against Bo’s throat.

Bo hummed in pleasure and twisted, her arms wound around Lauren’s own shoulders, and pulled her in close. She could smell the sweet honeysuckle of Lauren’s scent, warm and comforting, soured with the barest hint of the Chinese they’d had for dinner, and needed that smell to overwhelm her, to take her over. She pressed her mouth to Lauren’s, tangled her fingers in Lauren’s hair at the base of her neck and willed, with all her heart, for Lauren to kiss her back.

Lauren froze. Bo’s lips against her own dropped a pit in her stomach and started an ache in her chest that she’d been working for months to mend. The word ‘us’ that she’d so innocently used a few hours ago ricocheted in her head, and she sucked in a hard, harsh breath that only served to saturate her in the smell, the feel, the warmth of Bo.

She was only acting out of a transference of grief. It was natural, normal, for Bo to want sex now, for her to look for some release from the suffocating pain Lauren knew Bo felt over losing Kenzi. And when it was over, when they were both lying naked in bed, sweaty and breathing heavily into each other’s mouths, sated and removed, temporarily, from the hurt of losing a friend they both loved, Lauren knew Bo would be able to get up and walk away and Lauren would be left with nothing but the anguish of a handful of stolen moments of bliss.

She felt Bo begin to pull back, to pull away. This was her moment, her saving grace, to get up and walk away and save herself from the pain she knew would be waiting for her after another night spent in Bo’s bed. But she leaned in, caught Bo’s retreating mouth with her own and wrapped her arms tightly around Bo’s naked body, and heard the gasping breath Bo dragged in between kisses with grim satisfaction. She had nothing left to lose with Bo, had already given her heart away to the woman pressed beneath her, a love she’d never want to take back, even if she could. So she’d give away all that she had left to give, even if it left her empty and hollow, because what she had was already Bo’s to begin with.

Bo’s hands scraped down her back and around her ribs, sending a chill through Lauren that was replaced immediately by the sudden, rising warmth of the body beneath her and the hands that tore her jacket off and slipped her top over her head and unhooked her bra and tossed it across the room. Bo was rising now, lifting herself up in bed so that the sheets slid from her skin and their breasts pressed against each other, their skin hot and flushed and tight with want. Lauren dug her own fingers deep into Bo’s hair, her tongue swiped across Bo’s mouth and soft, warm, wet lips parted to deepen their heavy, panting kiss.

Even exhausted, Bo’s fingers were masterful. She’d unbuttoned Lauren’s jeans already, was pushing Lauren to stand long enough to peel the tight fabric from Lauren’s legs, and for a moment, Lauren mourned the loss of Bo’s mouth against her own, but then hot, wet kisses trailed down her shoulder, her chest, and Bo’s mouth closed over her nipple and Lauren sighed and panted into her lover’s desperate, needy touch. Bo trailed wet kisses down her stomach while she helped Lauren out of her jeans, her hot, damp breath lingered over the curved steel ring in Lauren’s navel and Lauren almost buckled at the knees at the sensation.

Then they were tumbling together, twisted in each other’s arms and legs into the bed beneath, struggling against the sheets that twisted between them. Bo slid out fluidly, her movements no longer groggy and sluggish, but predatory and hungry now, and straddled Lauren. Their hips pressed against each other, and Bo’s hair hung in a sweet smelling curtain around Lauren’s face, and Lauren couldn’t prevent the gasp, the soft, keen cry of pleasure that tore from her throat, or the hot pulse of want that echoed silently between her legs. Bo’s fingers fluttered down, slipped and slid between folds of warm, wet skin, and Lauren let out a second involuntary moan that brought a sudden, hungry smile to the mouth that kissed her.

Bo hadn’t fed in days. The memory of this made Lauren clench around Bo’s teasing fingers, irrationally more aroused now than she had been mere seconds ago, and she scraped her blunt nails down Bo’s back in a desperate attempt to draw the Succubus closer. Lauren tore her mouth from Bo, buried her face in her lover’s neck and nibbled and bit at the warm, soft skin there. The sharp breath Bo sucked in brought heat and urgency to Lauren’s sliding, undulating movements in her arms.

“Lauren,” Bo mumbled into Lauren’s hair, her voice gentle and hesitant, though her fingers never ceased their delicious torment in the heat between Lauren’s thighs. Lauren didn’t respond, only slid her own hand into the gap between them, put her fingers over Bo’s and guided them, pushed them, closer, deeper, until their fingers tangled and slid inside. They gasped together, and Bo felt heat flare across her neck, damp and needy and wanting. Bo hadn’t fed for days, and the struggle between desire and caution had already been overwhelming before Lauren had sunk her own fingers with Bo’s deep into herself.

“I’m yours, Bo,” Lauren’s words were thick and husky, and in the filtered, dusky half-light that poured through the slats of Bo’s window, it sounded surreal. The sweet, heavy scent of Lauren had long swarmed Bo, and she bathed in it, saturated herself in the warmth, the love, the sanctity of the woman that writhed in her arms, that offered her everything, that took her breath away. Bo panted into Lauren’s shoulder, kissed the smooth, sweat-slicked skin there, and drew away, though the hurt of it felt as physical as a blow to the gut. Lauren squirmed closer, struggled to hold Bo where she was, to keep her close.

“No, Lauren,” Bo stilled her lover’s hands with her own, pulled her close again if only to quiet the ache in her own chest and to calm their heavily beating hearts, “I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, voice hoarse, into Lauren’s hair, “I can’t lose you.”

Lauren stilled in her arms, and for a moment, Bo was lost between gratitude and disappointment that Lauren seemed to finally regain her senses. Bo pushed herself up on her elbows, leaned down to kiss the woman she loved, her mouth only a gentle, delicate, brief pressure against Lauren’s and pressed their foreheads together. Lauren panted against her, her heavy breaths flared against Bo’s mouth and chin, warm and damp and tempting, and wrapped her arms tightly around her.

“Bo,” Lauren whispered finally, and her name on Lauren’s lips sent a shiver through Bo that crept deep into her and warmed the coldest, darkest parts of her and hung and shimmered in the air like a living thing. She had to pull up, pull away, to see the way Lauren’s warm, caramel eyes glimmered in the half-light of her room, to see the adoring expression that lit her face and wonder that it was all for her. Between them, Bo’s necklace hung, a reminder, a commitment, and a promise of the love they shared. Lauren’s eyes darted down to it, then back up, and long, talented fingers reached up to tuck a dangling lock of Bo’s hair behind her ear. Warmth blossomed from Bo’s head to her toes.

“Bo,” Lauren murmured again, her voice thick and heavy in the sweet light that cascaded onto her flushed cheeks, “I trust you.”

They were an echo of a time long ago but never forgotten, a truth that remained steady and stalwart through all the trials they’d endured, of all the pain and heartache they’d dealt each other, a beacon of light, of hope to Bo, both then and now. Her breath caught in her throat, to hear those words again, to see the way Lauren looked at her in the waning light that filtered down through the slats in her window. Those words were a light in their own right, filtering through the bars she’d caged around her damaged heart in the months since the last time Lauren had told her she loved her.

Lauren leaned up then, pressed a slow, reassuring kiss to Bo’s mouth that sent shivers of desire, of hunger, of love running up and down her spine and tingling through every part of her. Her chest constricted, her heart pounded in her ears, alive and beating and bursting out of the cold confines in which she’d kept it captivated for so long. Bo moved her lips against Lauren’s, gentle, careful, still terrified of hurting the woman in her arms. And when the kiss was over, Bo buried her face in the warm crook of Lauren’s neck, tasted the soft skin there, kissed her again until her lips tingled and she was lost again in Lauren.

It was a desire they both shared, one they’d denied for years now, one that had kept Bo awake at night, tossing and turning and burning with fantasies of how Lauren would taste, how she would sound, how she would feel, pouring into her mouth and squirming beneath her in sheets soaked and steaming with sweat and love-lust. Bo could taste how much Lauren wanted it too, now, in the heat of her kiss, in the scrape of her skin, in the soft, deep rumble of every moan.

Bo’s fingers wandered down again, to the hot, wet crevice between Lauren’s thighs. She buried two fingers there, drank in the intoxicating cry of pleasure Lauren offered in return, her head thrown back into the pillows and her long, slender neck bare and flushed with the heat of her own gratification. Lauren rocked into her hand, sending a hot, sticky wave of want through Bo that dripped down Lauren’s thigh and made them both cry out with the heady craving that consumed them, that washed over them and clung to their skin and made their toes curl.

“Bo,” Lauren panted out, her own fingers dug deep into Bo’s shoulders and her body arched into Bo’s in a way that made her ache for more. Bo twisted and curled her fingers, sending another hot, sticky wave pulsing into her hand and making Lauren writhe beneath her, all muscle, all soft, damp skin and hedonistic pleasure and generous, gentle love. She couldn’t deny them anymore, couldn’t deny the craving that burned low in her heart, in her gut, in the fever that lit Lauren’s features and glowed pink in her cheeks, in her flushed throat and chest, in the growl of her low, sweet voice. And while Lauren climaxed into her hand, Bo leaned down to capture her mouth with her own, kissed her with the ferocity and power of the earth-shattering love she felt for her, and drew in the sweet, burning Chi Lauren offered her so eagerly.

It was both like and unlike every other experience Bo had ever had before Lauren. It was summer rain, warm and healing, beating into a dry, cracked earth and drawing green and living things out from deep within. It was the light flutter of eyelashes against her cheek, the soft, fulfilled sigh of a woman buried in love. It was whole, and happy, and sweet and flushed with the heady depth of what Lauren felt for her. It took her by surprise, stole the breath from her lungs again and replaced it with a strength and a warmth that was so human, so real, so full, it lit the stars and blew her away. From the little that she sucked in, Bo felt sated, and such an immense, unbreakable rush of power that flooded her insides and brought her careening to the edge and tumbling over.

And the cry of pleasure Lauren breathed into Bo’s mouth was joined by a moan of Bo’s own, their bodies arched into each other, their fingers grasping for purchase over skin and muscle slick with sweat and orgasm, straining into the coming crash at the end of a long, heart-stopping drop. They clung to each other, speechless, breathless, dazed and trembling with the sheer force of what they shared, panting hot, heavy breaths into each other’s mouths, too exhausted, too sated to move from each other’s arms.

And finally, when the hot sweat on their skin began to cool and dry, and the last tremors of their shared climax began to slow and dull, Bo buried her face in the crook of Lauren’s neck again, drew in the sweet, salty smell of her hair and kissed her sweat-slicked skin and marveled at the absolute miracle that was Dr. Lauren Lewis, hers to love and be loved by, hers to belong to. Her gift, her weapon, her shield.

Lauren’s arms around her relaxed, but didn’t untangle. Bo felt her mouth travel from her shoulder to the soft, sensitive patch of skin behind her ear and leave there a warm, sweet kiss that brought another shudder of relief to Bo’s tired, aching body.

“I missed you,” Bo murmured tentatively into the soft skin of Lauren’s neck, “I missed us.” The sound of ‘us’ fell over them like a warm, soft blanket, and Bo heard and felt the hitch in Lauren’s breath to hear it. She felt the smile too, that spread across Lauren’s mouth, shy and beautiful, a memory of the first time Bo had seen that bashful smile that had thrown her head over heels for the woman she held tightly in her arms now.

When Lauren spoke again, her words were choked, but full and vibrant and strong.

“I missed you too,” she breathed into Bo’s shoulder, “I missed the sound of ‘us’.”

 -

_Fin._


End file.
